


taste of love

by Areiton



Series: Without Words - Stony Love Confessions [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort Food, Established Relationship, Fluff and Mush, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Steve has a system, a way of feeding him that matches his mood, that leaves him cherished and warm and cared for.Tony--Tony doesn’t.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Without Words - Stony Love Confessions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748689
Comments: 20
Kudos: 232





	taste of love

There’s a system. 

Tony knows there is, but he can’t quite work out  _ what  _ the system is. Or even  _ why _ Steve does it. 

He knows this--on days when he comes back to the Tower, spitting mad over endless,  _ pointless _ meetings with the Board--there is grilled cheese waiting, crispy bread, gooey cheese, tomatoes warm and tangy in his mouth, and creamy tomato bisque to dip into. 

He knows that when he comes in from the balcony, wind-swept and wet-eyed after sending Rhodey back into the world in a suit that will keep him safe, but never safe enough--there is a plate of meatloaf, a pile of mashed potatoes, and the light airy biscuits that send him right back to the summer he spent in Philly with Rhodey, being fed by Mama Rhodes. 

He knows that when he comes home from a session with his therapist, there will be a cup of tea and a plate of sugar cookies and plenty of space. 

He knows that when he surfaces from a workshop binge, there will be piles of greasy food--Chinese late at night, burgers if it’s before midnight--and when he reaches for food in the ‘shop, he’ll find plates of cut fruit and bite sized pita, warm and perfect for the hummus nearby. 

He knows successful missions are followed by ruckus, loud team dinners, and no one ever knows what will land on the table, but Steve will land next to him, and make sure his plate is full, and his eyes are always so damn bright, when Tony eats the food he’s handed without really thinking about it. 

He knows that missions that go wrong are followed by a thin chicken broth and a cracker or two before Tony throws up and Steve is there for that too, a hand pressed against his back, a soothing voice filling up his ears. 

He knows that when he’s sick, Steve will force Gatorade and chicken rice soup down his throat. 

He knows that on Sunday, the one morning Steve won’t leave his bed to go for a run, he’ll wake instead to coffee and breakfast, to slow drugging kisses that taste of bacon and cinnamon and icing, and they’ll stay there, for hours, lost in each other, until the rumbles of Steve’s stomach chase them both, laughing, from bed. 

He knows that the other days, when he is home, Steve will always come back, windswept and beautifully flushed, and wake him with a bagel and coffee and a sweet kiss. 

And he knows that on the worst days--

The days when memories wrap around him and choke him, days when he can’t breath through the crushing weight of every fucking thing he’s done wrong, everything he _ will _ do wrong--

Steve wraps around him, smelling of bread and paint and safety, will hold him until Tony isn’t shaking anymore. When he props Tony on the kitchen counter, and cooks for him on those days, it’s only ever hot chocolate made with almond milk and a dash of vanilla and Steve smiles at him, and chases the cold away. 

~*~ 

Steve has a system, a way of feeding him that matches his mood, that leaves him cherished and warm and cared for. 

Tony--

Tony doesn’t. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t care. He  _ does. _ He  _ can _ cook, too--he resents the implication that he can’t, and tells Rhodey, very succinctly, where he can shove that shit, he set the fucking curve for chemistry--but Steve. 

Steve has a strange relationship with food. He likes feeding the people he cares about--Tony, the team. When Bucky comes in from the cold, Steve only breaks down when he realizes that Hydra only ever fed him with nutrient shakes, sludgy and thick and tasteless. 

But he doesn’t actually  _ like _ eating, himself. He tells Tony that there was never a lot of food, growing up, and he was allergic to most of it. 

Eating wasn’t comforting, it was a tedious exercise in almost dying. 

He only ever talks fondly about matzo ball soup, a staple in Bucky’s Ma’s house, and no matter how many delis Steve samples, he can’t find it made,  _ just right.  _

It takes him three months to track down Rebecca Proctor. She takes one look at Tony and immediately looks for a looming blond behind him and he feels, suddenly, inexplicably, like an ass. 

He promises to return with Steve, and she readily hands over the recipe, and even spends an afternoon teaching him how to make it,  _ just right.  _

The first time he serves it to Steve, it’s after a mission that kept Steve out of the country for two weeks, and in the hospital for three days after he finally got stateside, a mission that didn’t go  _ wrong _ but sure as hell didn’t go  _ right.  _

Steve calls, and he can hear it, the emotional and physical exhaustion that screams even as Steve laughs and calls hims  _ sweetheart _ and says  _ I miss you _ . 

So he makes soup, and the smell of it, thick and warm is filling up the air and it’s what Steve reacts to first, when he steps into the penthouse. His eyes go wide and wet and Tony draws him to the table, where the soup sits, steaming, rich broth and chunky carrots and a big fat matzo ball, and Steve--Steve’s hand spasms on his, an almost painful clench before he sits and Tony leans against him. 

He talks, idle nonsense about a mishap in R&D and closing the merger that kept him tied to New York while the Avengers were out of the country, nonsense words filling up the air as the spoon clinks against the bowl and Steve eats, and neither of them mention the tears on his cheeks, or the way he leans too heavy into Tony, or what this all means. 

Later, though, as he kisses Steve in their bed, and he tastes the salty trace of soup, he thinks he understands the urge. To feed, and provide and care for. To see that proof of love in a tangible, real way. 

He draws Steve close and they fall asleep, twisted together, and the taste of love and soup on his lips. 


End file.
